


Raggin' on the Boss

by ileolai



Series: Fawlty TARDIS [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Nardole the poor long-suffering cinnamon bun, Sex Talk, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:16:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ileolai/pseuds/ileolai
Summary: Nardole discovers the strange depths Bill's mind can wander to.





	Raggin' on the Boss

Nardole shuffles in, awkwardly balancing several plates of food in his arms, and muttering under his breath. The Doctor is conspicuously absent from the Agreed Upon Meal Time, off gallivanting around somewhere else. Bill is there, flopped on the table, absently drumming her fingers. Nardole plonks the food on the table and sits himself down.  
  
''Go to all this trouble for ‘im... Never any gratitude... Now where's he run off too this time, I wonder?''  
  
''You seriously haven't figured it out?'' Bill snorts, sitting up. ''You've been besties for like, a hundred years, and you don't know where he goes?''   
  
''Wouldn't quite put it that way. And wouldn't be asking if I knew, would I?'' He says, sliding her a plate.  
  
''Yum-o. Thanks.'' Bill, starving, gratefully tucks into her food.   
  
''So, where is he?''  
  
''Ah, eez'avina bonk.''  
  
''He’s what?''  
  
''Pre'y shur 'e's off shaggin' 'er, in'e.''  
  
''I'm sorry, what?''  
  
Bill swallows a mouthful of potato. ''Bonking, Nardole. Shagging. Bumpin' uglies.'' She makes an appalling gesture with her fork. ''They're totally at it. Him an' Missy. Right now, probably. Eugh.''  
  
Nardole winces. ''Hmmn. That’s disgusting, but plausible.''  
  
''Plausible? You in denial or what, dude? I bet they're goin' at it like rabbits. Haven't seen 'em all afternoon.''  
  
''Mmn. Well then. I s'pose 'is Missus would be pleased, wouldn’t she.''  
  
Bill choke-snorts on a piece of chicken.   
  
''You alright there?''  
  
''Missus? You mean, he's married?''  
  
''In a sense... yeah.'' And smugly, ''Now who doesn't know what he gets up to.''   
  
''Okay, but like... the Doctor?''  
  
''Mhm, 'fraid so... ''  
  
Realization dawns on Bill. ''Oh it’s  _her_ , innit? I thought he got that picture from a magazine or summin’... I mean she’s… y’know.''  
  
''No, what?''  
  
Bill fans herself. ''Phwoahrrr.''  
  
''Yes... Well, technically, it’s from a wanted poster.'' He grumbles. ''I had to cut it out, didn't I.''  
  
''Yeah, right. She’s a nutcase, then. Have to be to marry him.''  
  
Nardole grunts.  
  
''So, okay. She has to know about-- he's got like, a side piece in his kinky sex vault, or something-- and she's fine with that? The Missus?''  
  
''I s'pose so, yeah.'' He mutters. ''She knew 'bout all the others... fairly intimately... sooo. Yeah.''  
  
''Others? How many others? Intimately? What the fuck, Nardole. Details.'' She resumes scoffing her chicken.  
  
''Well...''  
  
''Shpill.'' She gulps down another mouthful. ''You're telling me Oscar the turbo-Grouch is a like, a trollop or something? How many's he got stashed?''  
  
''I lost count ages ago, honestly. Gets confusing, and it's not really any of my business, so...''  
  
''That's hilarious, though.'' Bill’s eyes suddenly go wide. ''Wait. I get it. Wait. Wait. Are they like... ''   
  
''Mmn?''  
  
''Are they like… you know. Like...''  
  
''Like what.''  
  
''Mormons?''   
  
''... Eh?''  
  
''They're flippin’ Mormons, right?''  
  
Nardole blinks. ''No, Bill. They're Time Lords.''  
  
''It's not a species-- okay, I s'pose they are, but... y'know. Mormons. Like the Sister Wives thing. Polygamists.''  
  
''I don’t know those words.''  
  
'' _That's_  why Missy's always nagging on about that show, making me watch it-- oh my  _God_. They're totally Mormons.''   
  
''Er, Are you alright?''  
  
''No! I'm in a cult!''  
  
''Uhh--?''  
  
''He’s a cult leader, right-- I'm in like-- a Sister Wives space cult thing with-- holy shit-- alien Space Mormons and their kinky swinger  _sex dungeon_  or something--''   
  
''I don't understand anything you just said.''   
  
''Moira'd flip her fuckin' lid.''  
  
''Bill.''  
  
''Holy shit.''   
  
''Bill--''  
  
''You could've told me they were  _Mormons_ , Nardole.''  
  
''I don't know what that is, your dinner's getting cold, and quite frankly, I think I regret this conversation.''  
  
''That explains  _so_  much about him, doesn’t it-- that explains  _everything,_ right?''  
  
''Eh, no, s'bit more complicated than that, I'd wager.''  
  
_''Space_  Mormons. Faaaark.''  
  
''Oh, hold on.'' Nardole says, turning. ''Sir graces us with his presence. ‘Allo, sir.''  
  
''Hi.''  
  
The Doctor appears at the table, without warning, as is his wont. He acknowledges their existence at the barest minimum level of politeness, scoops up an incriminating amount of food, and skulks off from whence he came. Back to his den of Time Lord iniquity, most likely.   
  
''Oh my God.'' Bill is left in a near catatonic state of simultaneous glee, intrigue, horror, and giggling.   
  
Nardole simply pokes at his food, exasperated.  
  
''Okay, Bill. Let me assure you-- he’s not a cult leader.'' He says eventually. Quietly adding, ''recently.''  
  
''He so is, though.''  
  
''And Space Mormons aren’t a thing, okay?''  
  
''But I just saw one.''  
  
Nardole sighs, defeated.  
  
  
For the next several weeks, she shoots him a look whenever the Doctor is around, like they're on the same wavelength and sharing a tremendously funny joke.


End file.
